


Next Time

by FlirtyFroggy



Series: What You Want [1]
Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M, UST, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 16:29:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlirtyFroggy/pseuds/FlirtyFroggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>David had the bizarre feeling that the match was somehow not over. He wondered if he should reach for his racket. Not that having a racket in his hand had ever done him much good against Rafa.</i>
</p><p>The immediate aftermath of their Madrid 2013 quarterfinal match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Next Time

**Author's Note:**

> I... don't really know what this is. I think I'm projecting.  
>    
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not meant to imply anything about any actual people or their lives. It's just for fun.

By the time he got back to the locker room, Andujar and Nishikori were preparing to leave it. Too focused on the match ahead of them to pay him much attention, Kei nodded politely, and Pablo briefly clasped his shoulder and gave him a bright smile so infectious that David couldn’t help but return it, however weakly. There were a few juniors still around, stealing sideways glances at him as he sorted through his bag and retrieved his shampoo from his locker. He ignored them all and before long he was alone. He was about to head to the showers when the door opened and Rafa came in.

“Hey,” David began, then stopped when he saw Rafa’s face. His jaw set, lips slightly pursed, eyes intent and focused. David had the bizarre feeling that the match was somehow not over. He wondered if he should reach for his racket. Not that having a racket in his hand had ever done him much good against Rafa.

Rafa stood in the doorway for a moment, anger plain in the tension of his shoulders and the furrows in his brow. Quite what Rafael Nadal had to be angry about at the moment, David had no idea.

“What the hell was that?” Rafa said, striding towards him, his voice quiet but clear.

“What was what?” 

“That,” he said, louder now, indicating the door behind him and, presumably, the stadium and court beyond. 

“That was you and me playing tennis. Same as it always is.”

“No. No.” Rafa shook his head. He was standing right in front of him now, close enough for David to smell him. Sweat and more sweat, and a hint of the earthiness of the clay that clung to him. Rafa’s eyes flickered over his face. “No.”

David gaped at him. “Rafa, what –”

“You had me,” Rafa said, stepping forward and closing the space between them. David held his ground. “You had me. Why won’t you beat me?”

David did step back at that, so he could see Rafa’s face properly instead of talking to his chin. His back collided with the lockers behind him. “Not won’t. Can’t,” he said, trying not to lose his temper. Rafa stepped forward again. There was nowhere for David to go. 

“No,” he said softly. “You won’t.”

David’s tenuous hold on his temper vanished. He pushed at Rafa’s chest, forcing him out of his personal space. Rafa didn’t resist; let himself be pushed. “For God’s sake, Rafa. I can’t beat you on clay. I can accept that. Why can’t everyone else?” Rafa said nothing, just stood there watching him. "I can't. You’re too good.” Rafa’s gaze travelled over David’s face once more before stopping to linger on his mouth. David had barely registered this fact when Rafa stepped forward, took David’s face in both hands, and kissed him hard. 

David raised his hands, intending to push Rafa away again. Instead, he found himself wrapping his arms around Rafa’s neck and biting his lip. Rafa growled low in his throat and raked his fingers through David’s hair, catching painfully in the tangles there. David gasped, pulled Rafa closer, as close as he could, 6’1” of solid muscle pressing him hard against the cold lockers at his back. His hands fell to Rafa’s waist, searching for skin, finding it beneath the jacket, hot and slick still from the court. 

David moaned and let his head fall back when Rafa ground his hips against him, and moaned again when Rafa bent his head and kissed his throat. He could breathe a little easier now, think a little more clearly, realise just what a bad idea this was. He threaded one hand into Rafa’s hair and pulled his head back up and kissed him again, and there was nothing then but the battle of tongues and lips and teeth, Rafa’s thigh between his own, hands clutching at skin.

Voices outside in the corridor, growing louder, cut through the haze and they both broke the kiss at the same time. They stared at each other for a long moment. Rafa’s eyes were dark and bright and David was pretty sure he had just lost again, though he had no idea what game they had been playing or what they were playing for. 

“Next time,” Rafa said, his voice hoarse. He swallowed hard. “Next time, you beat me.” He stalked off in the direction of the showers, leaving David to stare after him, breathless and bewildered.


End file.
